


No Way Out of the Mind

by she_who_the_river_could_not_hold



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Depictions of Torture (somewhat mild), F/M, Swearing, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-19 18:32:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13129551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/she_who_the_river_could_not_hold/pseuds/she_who_the_river_could_not_hold
Summary: While the rest of the world is struggling in the aftermath of WWII and America is locked in a Cold War with the Soviet Union, the small town of Hawkins, Indiana finds itself going through hard time as well. The disappearance of Will Byers has left everyone shaken, and what little clues there are point to the government-sanctioned mental institution located just outside of town. When Will’s best friends stumble upon a girl who escaped the asylum, there suddenly seems to be more questions than answers. But if Mike Wheeler knows anything, he knows that he’s going to find a way to save both his best friend and this mysterious girl no matter what.     [ON HIATUS]





	1. The Tank

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve had this idea building in my brain for a couple months and have almost all of it planned out already and a couple of chapters written. I was going to wait to upload but I’m hoping that by posting the first chapter it can help push me into working faster on the rest of the story! The title is inspired by a line from Sylvia Plath.
> 
> Disclaimer: This story draws inspiration from "Shutter Island," "Sucker Punch," and "One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest." The genre of stories focusing on mental institutions/asylums is very popular but I’m also aware that not everyone is comfortable with these types of settings. My aim is to show the corruption of these types of places during this era, and having taken a class in college focusing on this genre I hope I can do it justice, but I understand the sensitive nature of it. I’ve currently rated it Teen but as the story goes on I will gladly change it to Mature if it feels like that’s the best course of action (based on feedback or my own judgment). 
> 
> On that note, thanks for checking it out and enjoy!

**October 31st, 1954**

 

It doesn’t seem to matter how many times she’s lowered into the freezing water. It still makes it feel like her heart has stopped.

 

She’s never dropped or plunged into it, which she supposes is good, but it doesn’t feel like going slowly helps anything except avoid her body going into complete shock. Instead of immediate enclosure, she feels the cold slowly snake its way through her. It crawls from her toes as they break they surface, up to her brain where it slowly takes over. Her eyes are shut tight as she feels herself suspended in the water, gripping the metal rods in front of her as fiercely as she can. 

 

There’s a knock on the glass, floating to her in a muted echo through the water. She opens her eyes and squints as she acclimates to the darkness. It doesn’t take long for him to come into focus though, his white hair glowing from the lights behind him, illuminating him to her. His fist is still raised up to the glass as if he had been unsure if she had heard the first knock. She nods her head to him and a small smile appears on his face as he takes a step back. Her body immediately relaxes. 

 

She’s made him proud. She’s made Papa proud.

 

He’s disappeared from her line of sight but now that she’s adjusted to being underwater, she can vaguely hear the noises around her and see figures in the distance. Everything is garbled as she listens, waiting for something to happen. This part also isn’t any easier, but she’s getting better at blocking her mind from it after. She sees a shape in the distance ( _Papa?_ ) raise their arm and then it lowers. It’s the signal to begin.

 

* * *

 

The longest part of this process is waiting for the electrical currents to get to the water. They’re never in too large of quantities, she certainly carries enough charge in her own body, but this extra boost elevates her brain activity just the right amount.

 

Dr. Martin Brenner clasps his hands behind his back and lets out a small hum of impatience. He knows it’ll only take a few minutes but he’s anxious to get the search going. 

 

The tall cylinder-shaped tank stands near the back corner of the tiled room, an eerie glow emanating from within it. Her body is silhouetted against the light, a small frame with her arms sticking straight out to hold herself to the bars she had been lowered down with. He can see, even from where he’s standing, her body start to shake as the volts of electricity reach her. 

 

Bubbles emerge from the diving helmet she has on, but it doesn’t appear that she’s screaming so that’s good.  

 

He’s been trying to work on her panic attacks but Hans said he should temper his expectations. Something about, _“These things happen when you’ve had someone never leave the walls of the asylum.”_ Apparently four years of dropping a girl in water or hooking her up to electricity isn’t necessarily a normal thing for her brain to process during the developmental stages, resulting in what appeared to be panic attacks and wild mood swings from not being able to process her emotions.

 

Dr. Brenner had shrugged it off. She was his best yet, she’d get through it eventually.

 

Most of this process is a waiting game after all. The handful of technicians around him fight hard to suppress the boredom they’re all feeling. The clock ticks by slowly and the only motion in the room is the girl’s body convulsing in the tank. Her brain waves are reading normally on the charts – normal for her at least, he notes as he glances down at the rapidly moving meter before walking closer to the edge of the platform to observe. 

 

It had been almost ten minutes when suddenly something different happened.

 

The first moment was subtle. The monitor reading her heart rate shoots up, followed by the needle reading her brain waves spiking. A young technician, still new to the facility, cocked his head curiously at the machines. He had been told today would be just a routine check in, to see if they could track the Russian general who had escaped the Allied forces a few years back. But something odd looked to be happening that wasn’t planned so he raised his head to alert someone. 

 

That was when things took an even bigger turn. 

 

A scream erupted from the girl, audible even through the thick glass that incased her. Her body went rigid. Suddenly every machine in the room started vibrating, lights flashing frantically. The needles nearly broke off of the charts and the emergency lights began to go off, plunging the room into darkness and into a glowing red light like a terrifying metronome. The walls began to crumble around them and there was a horrifying crack as a fissure splintered its way up the tank.

 

Technicians scrambled about panicking, trying to get away from the disaster that was exploding around them. 

 

Dr. Brenner shoved past some incompetent scientist, pushing his way to the tank. Water had begun gushing out of the tank and each step was heavier than the last. Just when he was nearly halfway across the room, the final crack of the tank went off like a gunshot and split apart. The water sent everyone flying back and the girl’s body floated towards them. With a roar of desperation, Brenner dove after her before she could sink into the water. Grabbing her, he quickly hoisted her up and yanked the helmet off of her. She sputtered, coughing up bits of water. Even with the room flooded up to their knees, it hadn’t managed to wash the blood away that was pouring from her nose.

 

Electrical sparks went off in the back. The machines were dangerously close to the water.

 

She coughed again, looking tearfully up towards Dr. Brenner as he cradled her.

 

“Papa,” she whispered. Unable to say anything more, she burst into tears.

 

Sighing, Brenner turned and barked orders at one of the people next to him (it looked like a panicked Hans) before making his way away from the busted tank. Even waterlogged, the girl’s slight frame made it easy to carry her away from the wreckage. No one else’s life in this room mattered more than the two of theirs and he would leave everyone else to deal with the mess that had been created.

 

They would just have to try again another day.

 

* * *

 

It took an hour for everything to be situated. The doctors and scientists had done a patch-work job before swearing some of the janitors to secrecy as they entered the room, clearly confused. Nurses were called in to take the girl back to her room.

 

Brenner passes her off and she’s carried out by two nurses after everything is cleaned up. Head slumped forward, she can’t bring herself to have the energy to move. The trio make their way through the empty hallways, the occasional yells in the distance barely registering with her. 

 

The nurse holding her up on her right side is a woman no older than thirty, Mary, and has been newly assigned to this wing of the hospital. There’s a properness to how she’s put herself together that relays the idea that she most certainly hasn’t fully experienced the chaos of the her new employment. Adjusting her grip on the young girl in her hands, she glances down. The child (teen perhaps? she’s too small for it to be obvious) is mumbling something and her feet trip over themselves as the nurses drag her along.

 

“Is this a regular thing?” she finally asks, looking across at her companion. She’s trying her best to figure out the ropes still and if carrying a soaked girl back to her room was a regular situation, she just might try to sew herself an extra apron to have on these days. 

 

The other nurse, an older woman with grim lines carved into her forehead, does a jerky nod, never taking her gaze away from the hallway stretched out in front of them. 

 

“Twice a month,” is her response and Mary vaguely recalls her introducing herself as Donna, “Twice a month for the water treatment. She has more frequent tests done during the weeks but those are smaller.”

 

She doesn’t mention that normally the doctors in the room don’t have panicked expressions and that usually it’s a casual affair. Not whatever this was today.

 

A trail of water follows them, dripping from the girl’s hospital gown as she plods along in between the nurses, the occasional _squelch_ when she doesn’t pick her feet up. Soon enough they arrive back to her room, and Mary takes full control of the girl’s body as Donna goes to unlock the door. 

 

It’s a process to say the least. 

 

Three deadbolts and a couple chains later and the heavy door swings open, revealing a small room. Mary would be hesitant to call it a bedroom, though that was its intention. Then again most rooms here didn’t seem to quite match their designated roles.

 

A cot has been shoved into one of the back corners, the faded striped sheets pulled tightly across it. The restraints that were attached to the base of it had been loosely strewn across the top of the bed, giving one of the few hints of human interaction in the room, past the grimy but clinical atmosphere. Across from it is a small chair with a tin box on top, a couple loose pieces of paper scattered on the floor below. A single piece is somehow attached to the wall, a crude rainbow scribbled onto it. As with everything else in the hospital, there’s a green cast to everything.

 

The women lower her to the edge of bed and Donna grabs the towel she’s had hanging on her arm. Slowly she begins to dry off the girl’s arms and legs while Mary goes over to a metal box in along a wall. Pulling a fresh hospital gown out, she walks back over and prepares to strip the girl down. She’s barely reached out to her when she’s interrupted.

 

“No,” the girl mumbles, shoving Mary’s hands away. 

 

Mary frowns and reaches back towards her. She’s been told that patients can be difficult and it’s best to be firm and to not give them any leeway. 

 

“No!”

 

The protest is louder and angrier now, though her eyes remained clenched shut. 

 

“Poor thing is still in her fucking head,” grunts Donna as she scrambles to keep her hold on the girl’s arm, the swear word slipping out as her focus shifts from drying to supporting.

 

“Still in her head?” Mary asks, tongue sticking out in determination as she wrestles with the now squirming young girl. She notes that for someone that appears quite small even for a potential teenager, she has a frightening amount of strength to her.

 

Donna lets out a huff of breath, laced with frustration. “She retreats after those bigger exposures, some area she's created in her mind called the Void. Load of shit if you ask me but that German psychiatrist Brenner brought in says she does it to protect her mind,” she explains.

 

Suddenly the girl’s eyes fly open and her hands fist into each of the nurses’ aprons. Her grip locked in on the rough cotton fabric, she yanks them to her so that they’re mere inches from her. Water continues to run down her face and she’s shivering from being enclosed for so long in the tank, but her handle on the two women never wavers. Her eyes are wild and there’s a beat of silence as the three of them remain unmoving.

 

With a sudden gasping breath, the girl chokes out, “It escaped,” before her eyes roll back into her head and she collapses back onto the cot. 

 

Mary and Donna stand frozen for a minute before the older nurse jumps back into business. 

 

“Well, that was a bit over the top compared to her usual,” she says briskly, keeping the shaking out of her voice as much as possible, reaching out with the cloth to dab at the nosebleed that had started after the girl had passed out. 

 

Mary fought to regain control of her breath, still able to feel the vice-like grip that the girl had had on her. 

 

She knew that no doubt this was going to be one of many experiences she would have with patients lashing out or being uncooperative; that came with that job. She doubted this would be her worst. But there had been something about the look in the girl’s eyes that had been unsettling to Mary. It felt like this girl had truly looked in the face of terror and seen something, anything. Mary shrugged her shoulders though and resumed the process of what she had initially been trying to do, pushing herself past the experience. As she untied the damp gown on the girl’s body, she gave herself a reminder that she had accepted this position fully aware of what she was walking into and now was not the time to let some freakishly strong, but tiny, teenager scare her. 

 

It was her first week here for God’s sake. 

 

Once they had finished drying her off and a new hospital gown had replaced the soaked one, the women set to tucking her into the bed. It was getting late and it was only when there were tests to be done that the patients were allowed up past the regulated curfew. Not that it mattered too much, the girl had barely come to earlier and was floating in and out of sleep. Mary wasn’t sure what exactly the test had been but it certainly seemed to have taken all of the girl’s energy. 

 

When it looked that she had at last fallen asleep for good, the two nurses made their way out of the room.

 

“Congratulations on finishing your first full week,” Donna said, not looking up as she began to set all of the locks on the door.

 

“Thanks,” Mary responded, somewhat distractedly. “Will I work with her often?” she found herself asking. “Does she have a name?”

 

Donna glanced up at Mary at that comment. She knew when a nurse could be in trouble of becoming too attached.

 

“In this wing we don’t use names. They’re a select group and they only go by their room numbers, it makes it easier for recording their results from the tests.” Her voice was neutral. It was of utmost importance for nurses on this wing to only see these patients as their numbers and the way Mary’s eyes were glued to the door was not sitting well with her, not at all.

 

Mary’s eyes shifted to the numbers next to the door and first read them to herself. Her lips moved the slightest bit before she spoke again, having assigned the number to the face of the young girl behind the sealed door.

 

“Her name’s Eleven.”


	2. The Taking

“Look, all I’m saying is that I think it’s going to be a really good movie, we should try to go see it at the drive-in or something when it comes.”

 

Mike Wheeler tapped his hand nervously against his knee as he watched his best friend tinker with the contraption in front of him. Lucas Sinclair glanced up at Mike, eyebrows arched in the usual skeptical look he reserved for Mike’s theories or plans. 

 

“It’s from that Disney company Mike. How good can a science fiction movie from them be?” he asked, his voice fully conveying his distrust for the concept.

 

“Oh come on!” came a shout from the stairs. The two teens turned to see their other two friends Dustin and Will making their way down the stairs, arms stuffed with popcorn bowls and a couple plates piled high with sandwiches. 

 

Dustin looked at Lucas exasperatedly, his eyes bugged out in disbelief. 

 

“Lucas, buddy. _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea_ is a classic science fiction novel, we can’t NOT go see the movie,” he explained frustratedly, shoving a bite of a sandwich into his mouth. “Plus isn’t it supposed to be filmed on some fancy shit or something?”

 

Mike eagerly sat up at the mention of the movie’s rumored technological advancements. “Yeah it’s filmed in CinemaScope which is this new technology, it helps change the aspect ratio! It’s something about the lens, I haven’t looked into all of the science behind it yet but it sounds amazing!” 

 

The more he rambles about it, the more excited he becomes and the wilder his movements become with his arms, until he’s practically falling off the couch as he flails about. With a quick exhale after hardly breathing during his small speech, Mike flopped back down onto the couch and blew his floppy black hair out of his eyes and waited for a reaction.

 

Lucas rolled his eyes and refocused his attention on the radio pieces in front of him, his dark hands moving quickly as he reorganized the internal parts into small piles.

 

“Alright alright,” he conceded. “I mean we have practically a month until its release so I can always change my mind. Plus it’s not like there are that many science fiction movies out anyway, we should probably take advantage of the ones we can.”

 

The boys let out a whoop at their friend’s (tentative) agreement and dove into the snacks provided by Mrs. Wheeler, Mike’s frantic but overall pleasant mother. She always made sure the boys were well fed when they came over, often tearing up at _“just how quickly they were growing and my goodness it felt like just yesterday they were all just little boys.”_

 

She had thrown an extra sandwich onto the plate with a nudge at Will to eat as much as he needed, making him flush a deep pink and give a murmured thank you. He wasn’t sure if it was because he still hadn’t seemed to have hit his growth spurt or if she knew about the tightness of money back home, and it certainly could have been both, but he was thankful nonetheless (if not a little embarrassed). He couldn’t fight the grin as he bit into the bologna and cheese sandwich, laughing at his friends’ antics. He was often content with being the silent observer, interjecting when he felt he had something to say but otherwise enjoying the chatter from the other boys. 

 

The four of them were currently spread out in front of the small TV in the basement of Mike’s house. Since they had been in elementary school they had dubbed it their lair and quickly took it over. From imaginary adventures with Mike leading the charge, to late night discussions about family struggles and personal fears, it was a second home to them. 

 

* * *

 

Will still remembered the night that Mike had first coaxed him down there, the two of them having just finished their second week of first grade. Clutching onto his best friend’s hand, Will had begged to not go down the steep steps to the cement room. He could hear the furnace rumbling from the top of the flight of stairs and it terrified him. Mike had at first rolled his eyes, but upon seeing the real fear in the smaller boy’s eyes, had insisted that they’d just have to fight off the monster then. Since Will had done better than him on the spelling quiz that week, Mike declared that Will would now be known as Will the Wise. As a powerful wizard (and with the help of Mike who hadn’t made his mind up of what type of knight he’d be), Will would have the power to vanquish the evil furnace. Mrs. Wheeler had found them hours later running around downstairs with blankets for capes and waving Ted’s golf clubs around as a sword and a staff.

 

It wasn’t long after that night that Mike introduced Will to his next-door neighbor, Lucas Sinclair. For some reason beyond Will’s understanding at the time, Lucas wasn’t allowed to go to the same school he and Mike went to, but that just made hanging on the weekends that much more fun. Lucas was stubborn but Will was inspired by how he approached everything. Even when the older boys down the street yelled cruel things, Lucas was the one that stayed level headed and kept Mike from throwing rocks at them. He often said that those guys weren’t worth the battle and there were bigger ones to worry about. He eagerly joined their adventures as a hunter, relying on his stealth to be successful against whatever evil it was they were going up against. Their arsenal now included two golf clubs and a slingshot. 

 

Their arch nemesis remained the furnace at the time.

 

It was in fourth grade that their crew was completed, with the arrival of a curly haired boy named Dustin Henderson. His toothy (or lack thereof) grin and the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled won over every mother on the block over. He burst into their lives fairly suddenly but the boys immediately bonded and welcomed the more rambunctious member to the team. One day while running around, Dustin had startled them by bursting into song one day. They immediately determined that that he obviously had to be some sort of bard or troubadour for their adventure group. It had taken eight-year-old Mike five times to spell it correctly in his notebook.

 

The period of going through puberty went just as expected, though at age 16 now it would still be incorrect to say they were completely through it. But the basement (and that wretched furnace) had heard their first voice cracks and been privy to the hushed whispers of their first crushes. It had been turned into Hobbiton and Mordor as Mike performed dramatic readings from _Lord of the Rings_ , while the other boys reenacted the scenes. It’s where they had snuck sips of Mrs. Wheeler’s wine to celebrate the results of the _Brown v. Board of Education_ court case earlier this year, even though Lucas had already been able to join them in seventh grade at Hawkins Middle School due to the General Assembly’s in Indiana a handful of years before. 

 

But for most nights, it was just where they hung out and watched shows on the tiny RCA television set that Ted Wheeler had ended up placing down there. 

 

* * *

 

Lucas glanced down at his watch. “Alright, pretty sure the reruns start in about five minutes.”

 

With a heavy sigh, Dustin wiggled his way deeper into the oversized armchair before throwing the ratty, olive green knit blanket over his lap.

 

“I still can’t believe ‘Tales of Tomorrow’ was canceled, it’s an outrage,” he grumbled. “It’s a conspiracy I’m telling you. They don’t like knowing we’re happy.”

 

“Who’s they?” asked Will curiously.

 

Dustin waved his hand distractedly before answering.

 

“Obviously the government or whatever,” he said with a shake of his head. “My mom says you can’t trust them and they’re controlling what’s on our TV.”

 

Will stifled his chuckle, trying to not laugh out loud, instead egging Dustin on with a casual, “Maybe it’s the Germans or the Soviets.”

 

The teens all looked at each for a moment after that and then burst out laughing. Lucas was grinning and shaking his head, mumbling something about it being too soon, and Mike leaned over to gently punch Will in the shoulder. 

 

“Sometimes I think you have a bigger imagination than I do,” he joked, trying to imagine a Nazi soldier glaring at an American science fiction show and concluding that there was no other solution but to end it.

 

The boys slowly resettled into their positions as the TV program turned on, the television set coming to life with a crackle.

 

After a couple episodes and an argument about whether or not “The Bitter Storm” or “Red Dust” was better, Mrs. Wheeler appeared at the top of the stairs to remind the boys to wrap up for the night. Mike shouted back an “I KNOW” before returning to the conversation at hand.

 

“I just think you should go ahead and ask her out, she already hangs out with us at lunch,” Dustin was saying to Lucas with a knowing expression on her face.

 

Lucas let out a snort.

 

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

Will gave him a slight nudge. 

 

“Lucas we won’t feel betrayed if you choose to spend time with a girl instead of us, promise,” he said with a light teasing grin. Lucas’ eyes rolled and he let out his breath in a huff.

 

“I know you all wouldn’t but I really don’t think she’s interested in going steady with me, or going anywhere really,” he lamented, fidgeting with his hands. 

 

Dustin clapped him on the back, “If a girl that interested in not liking girly things can still make that much of an effort to talk to you and sitting next to you at Benny’s Diner. I mean she split a damn milkshake with you.” He added on that last bit when he saw the furrow in his friend’s brow remaining fixed on his face.

 

The conversation continued as the boys bundled up and began to make their way out of the Wheeler house. Dustin and Lucas split one way, now bickering about who knows what at this point in the night.

 

Waving goodbye to the other guys, Will began to make his way down the other direction. His house was a little further off than the other boys and while he had a usual route home from school he would take, there was mercifully a short cut that he could take when heading home from Mike’s. 

 

Turning off of the main street, he made his way down a longer, winding road through the woods that filled the gap between his house and Mike’s neighborhood. 

 

Cursing himself for not wearing warmer clothes, Will shoved his hands into his coat pockets as he made his way down the empty street, doing everything he could to keep his body heat in. Head burrowed into his scarf to protect his face, he failed to see the streetlights above him flickering. The winters in Hawkins hadn’t been too bad in the past years but this one was a bitter cold one, even with the absence of snow. 

 

Moving his shorter legs as quickly as possible, he tried pushing himself through the wind to hurry back to his place. 

 

Something seemed off. He could feel a tingling up his spine and he tried to ignore the nerves of feeling like he was being watched. 

 

Will often felt anxious, something he tried to hide so that he wouldn’t worry his mother, and he could feel that unsettling feeling growing in his stomach. He tried to steady his breathing, a tip from Jonathan from a night in middle school. He wasn’t going to have a panic attack in the middle of the road. Not if he could help it. The seniors at the high school already had plenty of horrible nicknames for him and if they somehow found him crying in the middle of the night on the road, he wasn’t sure how he’d be able to live it down.

 

The telephone wires above him crackled and Will found himself sucking air in. 

 

He would not look back. 

 

He would not look back.

 

He would not look back.

 

It was in the middle of his fourth time repeating this to himself that Will looked back.

 

The scream that threatened to burst out of him caught in his throat. It felt like ice was shooting through his veins. Thankfully his legs took charge as his brain felt like it had completely blanked, and before he knew it, he was thrashing through trees as he ran into the forest just off the road. He felt himself being driven by pure adrenaline, every bit of strength pushing him on. He kept running, losing track of all time and only capable of looking ahead as he urged himself deeper and deeper into the trees.

 

Just when he felt like he was getting his stride, he suddenly found himself toppling forward onto the ground. A sharp pain pierced through his ankle and he groaned, trying to roll himself onto his back. In the glimmer of the moonlight he could just barely see the outline of the tree root that had sent him tumbling. There was no way he was going to be able to stand back up he realized, as he gingerly reached forward to touch his ankle. Even the lightest tap sent shockwaves through him.

 

He felt himself growing lightheaded and his breathing picking up. Every hair on the back of his neck was standing up. There was no strength left in him to fight the panic that was building in him and his palms grew sweaty, even in the cold. He was nearing hyperventilating and even picturing Jonathan calming him down couldn’t combat the waves of anxiety crashing through him.

 

He wasn’t alone, he could feel it.

 

Will slowly raised his eyes to look up in front of him. Time felt like it was moving through water and his vision was blurring from holding back tears from the terror he felt and the pain coursing through his body.

 

When he finally looked all of the way up, the scream that had been trapped inside him was finally released, piercing the otherwise quiet night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters have mainly been establishing the story and everything so things should start picking up soon! Also I’m doing my best to keep their conversations relative to the time period but oh boy is that harder than I expected. Thanks for checking the story out!


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